Funny Man
by zelda49
Summary: [CBPC June]  Zack wants to fit in when it comes to joke telling at the lab.  Can Booth help him do it?


A/N: Talk about cutting it close! It's 11:00pm here on the east coast on the last day to post for the June CBPC, but I made it! Enjoy this month's contribution :-)

* * *

The early morning sun filtered into the bedroom through the thin curtains, casting an eerie light onto the hair sticking up on the back of Booth's head. Not that he noticed, though—until ten seconds ago he was completely unconscious, trying to sleep off the effects of one too many games of air hockey with Parker the night before. His cell phone had woken him, ringing shrilly from where he had left it on the dresser and forcing his brain back to consciousness. He bolted upright in bed before his eyes even opened, hair cemented in its upright position, and shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs.

Untangling himself from the sheets, he stumbled out of bed and grabbed at the phone, clearing his throat as he flipped it open. "Booth," he answered in a thick voice.

He listened for a moment, groping around for something to write on, scratching out a crime scene address with one of his son's crayons onto the back of a candy bar wrapper. "Mmhmm," he responded when prompted. "I got it. Be there in twenty minutes."

He cleaned up quickly and jumped in his SUV, hitting the speed dial button he had reserved for Brennan's number. The call went straight to her voice mail and Booth hung up quickly, pressing the speed dial button again a moment later and again hearing Brennan's voice mail pick up.

Frowning, he closed the phone and tossed it on the empty passenger seat. "Why isn't she answering?" he wondered aloud.

That mystery was solved when he pulled up and parked at the crime scene. Instead of Brennan hovering over the remains it was Zack, clad in a blue Jeffersonian jumpsuit, examining the skull of the victim.

"Great," Booth muttered as he walked over. Then, in a louder voice, "What are you doing here?"

Zack looked up from the body, shading his eyes with his hand. "Agent Booth."

"Yeah. Where's Bones?" the older man asked.

"Approximately thirty-five thousand feet above Colorado," the Squint replied. "Unless her flight to Los Angeles was delayed."

Booth snapped his fingers. "That's right. She's going to that science-geek-convention-thing at UCLA."

"The American Academy of Forensic Sciences conference," Zack corrected. "And since I'm now qualified to investigate a case on my own, Cam thought this would be a good time to get my feet wet. Though I'm sure she meant that metaphorically," he continued, glancing down at his shoes, "my feet are, in fact, wet."

Booth shook his head sadly. "Zack, you need to find your sense of humor."

The young scientist stared blankly back. "Now?"

"No, not now!" Booth scolded. "Tell me about the body."

"Oh," Zack replied. "Okay. This is a male; age is approximately sixty to seventy years old…"

-----

Later that evening, after preliminary work on the remains had been completed, Zack found himself riding the elevator up to Booth's office in the J. Edgar Hoover Building. The doors slid open when the car stopped at the appropriate floor, and he took a deep breath before stepping out, letting it out slowly as he walked down the hall.

Arriving at Booth's door, Zack knocked tentatively. "Agent Booth?"

He looked up from the papers on his desk. "You get something else from the body?"

"No, nothing new." Zack stepped into the room and stopped halfway. "I, um, actually…wanted to ask you a favor."

Booth slumped over his desk, resting his cheek sloppily in the palm of his hand. "Oh great. What do you want?"

Zack frowned. "I want you to help me find my sense of humor," he stated.

"You what?"

"I want you to help me find my sense of humor," Zack repeated clearly. When Booth only eyeballed him in response, he laid out his argument. "I've never fit in with any group of people at any time in my life…"

"Really?" Booth mocked. "I'd've never guessed that. You're so normal."

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Agent Booth," Zack frowned. "Especially when I'm asking politely for your help."

Booth leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach and sighing. "Okay, Zack. Let's hear it."

"Everyone at the lab seems to have some connection to the world of pop culture: Angela and Cam are the best at understanding and using it, and Hodgins is also well-versed. Even Dr. Brennan's knowledge has grown since she began working with you." A resolute expression settled on his face. "I just want to fit in _somewhere_. And you are the most logical resource to help me do that."

Booth studied him as he spoke, watching the ordinarily stoic anthropologist muster something akin to passion, and thought over his request. _Bones is always telling me I should be nicer to Zack, _Booth thought. _And I kinda feel sorry for the kid—he's right, he'll never fit in anywhere without help. A lot of help._

He sat up in his chair. "Okay, Zack. I'll help you."

"You will?" the younger man asked in disbelief.

Booth nodded. "Yeah." Glancing through the glass wall, he continued, "But not here. If anyone sees me with you for too long, they're going to think I went over to the dark side."

Zack wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "The dark side?"

"Yeah," Booth affirmed wearily. _This is going to be tougher than I thought._ "I'll explain it in the car."

Forty-five minutes later the two men were seated at a table in the back of a diner well outside their normal sphere of existence. Each had plates of food in front of them, Booth eating hungrily, speaking between bites, while Zack hardly touched his meal, listening intently instead.

"So basically, there are three things you have to remember about jokes," Booth began.

Zack resisted the urge to take notes, somehow knowing that it would not go over well with his instructor. "Okay."

"One, be confident when you make a joke. If you don't look like you think it's funny, no one else is gonna think it is, either."

Zack nodded. "That makes sense."

"Two," Booth continued, "joke only about things that you know. I guarantee any time you try to say something funny about Brittany Spears, Paris Hilton, or the guy who sued his dry cleaner for fifty-seven million dollars, you're going to fall flat on your face."

"'Fall flat on your face'…that was a figure of speech," Zack explained excitedly. Then, "Hey, what makes you think I don't know anything about Brittany Spears?"

Booth raised his eyebrows in surprise, but kept his lesson going, shoveling in another mouthful of food. "Three, plan some jokes ahead of time. If they're good enough, an opportunity will present itself at some point for you to use 'em. When you start getting good, you can be spontaneous, but not until you're ready."

Zack dutifully nodded his head again, packing away each word in his memory. "But what happens if I never get good?" he asked anxiously. "What if all my prepared jokes turn out to be terrible, and I can't think of anything spontaneously?"

Booth tore off a piece of bread and grinned. "You'll think of something."

-----

Zack's chance came two days later in the lab. He sat in a cushy chair in the lounge area of the second floor, laptop balanced on his knees, typing up the formal report on his first solo crime scene. Angela and Hodgins strolled over, plopping down in chairs on either side of him.

"Hey Zack," Angela greeted him.

"Hey man," Hodgins echoed. "What's new?"

Zack replied with a self-assured smile on his face. "I found my sense of humor."

Hodgins laughed. "Oh really. You think you're funny?"

"Yes," Zack told him proudly. "I do."

"Well, let's hear a joke," Angela cajoled. "Let's see how funny you are."

"All right. What did the mathematician say when he simplified the square root of a negative number?""

Hodgins rolled his eyes. "What?"

"I took my 'i' out…and now I'm blind!" Zack grinned.

Angela looked confused. "That was your funny joke?"

"It was a _math_ joke," Hodgins clarified for her. "That's as funny as they get."

"Oh," she responded, smothering a giggle. "Good one."

Seeing the amusement in their eyes at his failure, Zack tried again. "What about this one: the plural of octopus is octopi, right?"

His colleagues nodded, wondering where he was going.

"So what do you call lots and lots of octopi?"

Angela looked at Hodgins and they shrugged at each other. "I don't know, Zack," she answered for the both of them. "What?"

"Octocake!"

Hodgins winced. "Strike two, Zack-aroni," he grimaced.

Frantically searching for something to say that would save face, Zack noticed Booth swiping his ID through the card reader and stepping up onto the forensics platform. _Thank God!_ He jumped up from his chair and practically ran down the stairs.

"Agent Booth!" he whispered harshly. "Agent Booth, my jokes aren't working! Angela and Hodgins are laughing, but I think they're laughing at _me_!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Booth commanded, holding up a hand. "What jokes did you tell them?"

Zack repeated his carefully crafted jokes, noting despairingly that Booth was cringing badly. "Are they really that awful?"

Booth nodded painfully. "Oh yeah."

"Well, what do I do now? I told them I was funny, and they obviously don't believe me!"

Booth sighed, feeling sorry for the young scientist. "C'mere," he instructed, crooking a finger. He waited until Zack took a step closer before speaking again. "Here's what I want you to do…" He lowered his voice even further, but made sure his instructions were clear. "Got it?" he asked when he finished.

Zack nodded, much more confident.

"But no one, and I mean _no one_, finds out about this…got it?"

Zack nodded again, very solemnly.

"Okay, let's just walk over to the stairs here, and look like we're having a normal conversation."

"We are having normal conversation."

"Good. See? Then it's not too hard, now, is it?" Booth chuckled.

They climbed the steps up to the second floor and rounded the corner.

"Ready?" Booth asked. "Just like I told you."

"You're sure it'll work?" Zack asked uncertainly.

"I'm sure. Just say the line I gave you, and I'll act like it's the funniest thing I've ever heard. Angela and Hodgins will be amazed."

"Okay." Zack tool a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked at Booth and smiled gratefully, raising his voice so his colleagues would hear him clearly as he approached. "And I swear, that's how the monkey got the peanut butter!"

* * *

A/N 2: The math joke Zack told is actually one I use in my classroom when I teach imaginary numbers (and my kids don't laugh, either), which I learned from my Algebra II teacher in high school. The octopus joke I got from my neighbor, who has a cornier sense of humor than I do...and is also a teacher. There must be some sort of subliminal bad-joke messages in our Ed classes or something... 


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